Coming Home (50 page)

‘So what did you do?’

‘It seemed a bit early to start ringing home and demanding transport and I'm too mean to take a taxi, so I left all my stuff at the station, and walked up to Pops' club and beat on the door until somebody let me in.’

‘I didn't think you were a member of your father's club.’

‘I'm not, but they know me, and I spun a sob story and got let in. And when I told them I'd been travelling for two days, I was tired and dirty, they let me have the use of a bathroom, and I soaked in hot water for an hour, and then some kind lady cooked me breakfast.’

She was filled with admiration. ‘Edward, what a nerve you've got.’

‘I thought it was rather a bright wheeze. Super breakfast. Bacon and eggs and sausages and scalding, very hot, tea. And bless my soul, just as I was finishing this gargantuan feast — I hadn't eaten for about twelve hours — who should walk in but Pops.’

‘Was he as astonished as I was?’

‘Just about.’

‘You are naughty. He might have had a heart attack.’

‘Oh, don't talk rubbish. He was just very pleased to see me. And he sat down and we had more tea together, and he told me he'd brought you into town to do your Christmas shopping, and was meeting you here at twelve-thirty. So I came to look for you and hurry you up.’

‘What made you think of Medways?’

‘Well, you weren't in any other shop, so I finally ended up there.’ He grinned. ‘Successfully.’

The very thought of him, in this appalling weather, trudging around Penzance in search of her, touched Judith deeply, and filled her with a warm glow.

She said, ‘You could have just sat cosily in the club and read a newspaper.’

‘I didn't feel like sitting cosily anywhere. I've been sitting in stuffy trains for too long. Tell me how've you been…’

But before she could tell him, the antique waiter returned with a tray bearing coffee pots, cups and saucers, and two extremely small biscuits on a plate. Edward reached once more into his trouser pocket, produced a fistful of coins, and paid him. ‘Keep the change.’

‘Thank you, sir.’

When he had gone, Judith knelt on the worn hearthrug and poured the coffee. It was black and smelt a bit funny, but was at least hot.

‘…what have you been doing with yourself?’ he persisted.

‘Nothing much. Just school.’

‘God, I'm sorry for you. Never mind, it'll soon be over, and you'll wonder how on earth you endured it. And Nancherrow?’

‘Still standing.’

‘Stupid girl, I meant what's going on? Who's there?’

‘Everybody, I think, now that you've arrived.’

‘What about friends and relations?’

‘The Pearsons, from London. They came last night.’

‘Jane and Alistair? Good, they're good value.’

‘And I think their children and Nanny are arriving this evening, by train.’

‘Oh, well, I suppose we all have a little cross to bear.’

‘And Tommy Mortimer's coming for Christmas, but I'm not quite sure when.’

‘Inevitable.’ He put on Tommy Mortimer's mellifluous voice. ‘Diana, my darling girl, a tiny Martini?’

‘Oh, come on, he's not as bad as that.’

‘I rather like the old codger, as a matter of fact. And has Athena produced no panting swain?’

‘Not this time.’

‘That at least is a cause for celebration. How's Aunt Lavinia?’

‘I haven't seen her yet. I only got back from St Ursula's yesterday. But she's coming for Christmas dinner, I know.’

‘Majestic in black velvet, dear old girl.’ He drank some coffee and screwed up his face. ‘God, this
is
disgusting.’

‘Tell me about Arosa.’

He put down his cup with a derisory clatter, and it was clear that he was going to drink no more. But, ‘Terrific,’ he told her. ‘All the tows working and not too many people. Fantastic snow, and sun all day long. We skied all day and danced most of the night…there's a new bar, Die Drei Husaren, where everybody goes. We were usually swept out at four in the morning.’ He burst into song. ‘“Girls were made to love and kiss, and who am I to disagree with this.” We made the band play that every night.’

We. Who was we? Judith suppressed an unworthy pang of envy. ‘Who was with you?’ she asked.

‘Oh, just friends from Cambridge.’

‘It must have been wonderful.’

‘You've never skied?’

She shook her head. ‘No.’

‘One day I'll take you.’

‘I can't ski.’

‘I'll teach you.’

‘Athena told me you're learning to fly.’

‘I've learned. I've got my pilot's licence.’

‘Is it frightening?’

‘No, it's bliss. You feel quite inviolable. Superhuman.’

‘Is it difficult?’

‘Easy as driving a car, and a million times more fascinating.’

‘I still think you're dreadfully brave.’

‘Oh, of course,’ he teased her, ‘the original intrepid bird-man.’ Suddenly, he pushed back the woollen cuff of his sweater, and squinted at his watch. ‘It's a quarter past twelve. Pops will be here before long to bear us all home. The sun's over the yardarm, so let's have a glass of bubbly.’

‘Champagne?’

‘Why not?’

‘Shouldn't we wait for your father to come?’

‘Why? He hates champagne. You don't hate it, do you?’

‘I've never drunk it.’

‘Then now is a good time to start.’ And before she could object, he sprang to his feet and went once more to press the bell for the waiter.

‘But…in the middle of the
day,
Edward?’

‘Of course. Champagne can be drunk at any hour of the day or night, that's one of its charms. My grandfather used to call it the rich man's Eno's. Besides, what better way is there for you and me to start Christmas?’

Judith sat at her dressing-table, leaned anxiously towards the mirror, and applied mascara to her eyelashes. It was the first time she had ever used mascara, but Athena's Christmas present to her had been a beautiful casket of Elizabeth Arden cosmetics, and the least she could do to say thank you was to try to deal with the complications of make-up. There was a little brush with the mascara box, which she had wet under the tap and then made a sort of paste. Athena's tip had been to spit on the mascara, she said it made it last longer, but spit seemed a bit disgusting and Judith had reverted to tap-water instead.

It was seven o'clock on Christmas evening, and here she was dressing herself up for the climax of Christmas dinner. She had set her hair, with Kirby grips, in a lot of little snaillike curls all over her head, and had cleaned her face with the new cleansing cream, and put on foundation cream, and a dusting of deliriously scented powder. The rouge was beyond her, but the mascara a challenge; luckily, it went on all right, and she managed not to stick the brush in her eye with possibly fatal consequences. Finished at last, she sat back, carefully not blinking, and waited for it to dry. Her reflection stared back, wide-eyed as a doll, but marvellously improved. She could not think why she had not tried mascara before.

Waiting, she listened. Beyond the closed door, the house was filled with small, distant sounds. A clatter of dishes from the kitchen, and Mrs Nettlebed's voice raised as she called to her husband. Farther away still, the faint strains of a waltz.
The Count of Luxembourg.
Probably Edward trying out the radiogram, in case his mother decided that they should dance after dinner. And then, much closer to hand, splashings and raised childish voices from the guest bathroom, where Nanny Pearson was endeavouring to get her charges ready for bed. But they were both tired out, over-excited after the long day, and from time to time the childish voices broke into yowls and wails as they whined and grizzled and probably hit each other. Judith allowed herself a pang of sympathy for Nanny Pearson, who had been chasing after them all day. By now she must be longing for them to be unconscious in their beds, so that she could go to the nursery, put up her swollen ankles, and gossip with Mary Millyway.

The mascara seemed to be dry. Judith unpinned her hair and brushed it out, and coaxed the ends under to a gleaming page-boy. Now, the dress. She slid out of her dressing-gown and went to her bed, where she had laid out the butterfly-blue concoction in readiness for just this moment. She lifted it, weightless as gossamer, over her head, thrust arms into sleeves, felt the thin silk settle over her body. She fastened the tiny button at the back of the neck, and then did up the zip at the waist. It was a bit long, but once she had put on her new high-heeled sandals, that problem was solved. So, nearly there. The gold earrings, which Athena had so kindly lent her, screwed into lobes. The new lipstick, Coral Rose, the new scent, and she was ready.

She stood, and for the first time surveyed herself in the long mirror set in the centre of the wardrobe. It was all right. In fact, it was marvellous, because she looked really good. Tall, slender, and, most important of all, grown up. Eighteen at least. And the dress was a dream. She turned, and the skirts floated out and around her, just like Ginger Rogers's; just the way they would float if Edward asked her to dance with him. She prayed that he would.

Time to go. She turned off the lights and went out of her room and along the passage, and the thick carpet felt soft through the thin soles of her sandals. From beyond the bathroom door came steamy smells of Pears soap, and Nanny Pearson's voice, admonishing. ‘What's the sense in being so stupid?’ She thought about looking in to say goodnight, but decided against it, in case Roddy and Camilla started yowling again. Instead, down the back stairs, and so to the drawing-room. The door stood open, and she took a deep breath and went through, and it felt a bit like walking onto the stage in a school play. The huge pale-coloured room danced with firelight, and lamplight, and glittering Christmas baubles. She saw Aunt Lavinia, majestic in black velvet and diamonds, already ensconced in an armchair by the fireside, with the Colonel and Tommy Mortimer and Edward standing grouped about her. They held glasses and were talking, and so did not notice Judith, but Aunt Lavinia spied her immediately and raised her hand in a little gesture of welcome, and the three men turned to see who had interrupted them.

Conversation ceased. For an instant there was silence. Judith, hesitating at the door, was the one to break it.

‘I'm the first down?’

‘Dear God, it's Judith!’ The Colonel shook his head in wonderment. ‘My dear, I hardly recognised you.’

‘What a perfectly gorgeous apparition!’ That was Tommy Mortimer.

‘I don't know why you all sound so surprised,’ Aunt Lavinia scolded them. ‘Of course she looks beautiful…and that colour, Judith! Just like a kingfisher.’

But Edward didn't say anything. He just laid down his glass and crossed the room to her side, and took Judith's hand in his own. She looked up into his face, and knew that he didn't have to say anything, because his eyes said it all.

At last he spoke. ‘We're drinking champagne,’ he told her.

‘
Again?
’ she teased him, and he laughed.

‘Come and join us.’

Afterwards, in the years to come, whenever Judith recalled that Christmas dinner at Nancherrow in 1938, it was a bit like looking at an Impressionist painting; all the sharp edges blurred by the softness of candle-light, and the muzziness of a little too much champagne. The fire was lighted; logs flamed and crackled, but looming furniture and panelled walls and dark portraits retreated and merged, to become no more than a shadowed backdrop for the festive table. Silver candelabra marched down the centre of this, with, all about, sprigs of holly, scarlet crackers, dishes of nuts and fruit and Floris chocolates, and the dark mahogany was set with white linen place-mats and napkins, the most elaborate of the family silver, and crystal glasses fine and clear as soap bubbles.